


when the sun goes down (we'll start a little fire)

by amosanguis



Series: creature AUs [39]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Arizona Coyotes | Phoenix Coyotes, Gen, Hacker Beau Bennett, Knife Fighter Geno, M/M, Minor Character Death(s), Non-Linear Narrative, Non-Romantic Sexual Relationships, Pittsburgh Penguins, Torture, Violence, Washington Capitals, Werewolf Steve Downie, Wordcount: 5.000-15.000, cameos for everyone, title from a country song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-04 20:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3088502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amosanguis/pseuds/amosanguis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You had a week, Carcillo,” Sidney says, “and that was already an extension.  Where’s my money?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \--Title is from "Fastest Girl in Town" by Miranda Lambert. 
> 
> \--The narrative alternates between two different point-of-views – the detectives’ and Sidney’s – so some of the stories may not match up. This is deliberate. Sometimes Sidney’s POV will expand on what the detectives are talking about, sometimes it doesn’t. There’s really no formula to this fic.
> 
> \--This is a crime au – Sidney and the others do some not nice things. There is casual mention of prostitution and drug rings, though no actual drug use happens on screen or by any of the main characters. Various NHL players are mentioned throughout – some (a lot) of them die. I’m only a little sorry.
> 
> \--There is one instance of Steve cuddling with an underage Sidney, but the scene is supposed to read as platonic. Or you can read it as pre-slash. Up to you.

-z-

 

 _December 29, 2014_.

 

Of the many gangs in Pittsburgh, Mike Johnston would never have said that the Penguins (a nickname they earned not long after they were established in the late 1960s due to their impeccable fashion sense) cracked even the top ten most dangerous once Mario Lemieux retired.  Lemieux had tried to come back, tried to restore his mob to glory – but it was too late and the Penguins had fallen too far.

That was before Sidney Crosby and his white fuckin’ wolf came into town.

In two years, the Penguins went from hitting corner mom-and-pop stores to controlling half of the city’s prostitution and drug rings.  In four – they controlled everything.  They were quick, brutal, and disgustingly efficient as Crosby set about taking control of the city.

And everyone Crosby picked up along the way stayed intensely loyal – no one would double-cross him.

 

-

 

“His first month here,” Johnston tells Rutherford, the new police chief who was replacing Ray Shero, “he killed the leaders of the Penguins’ rival gangs.  Then he killed whoever stepped up, leaving them to kill each other off as they fought over who would be in charge.

“Next thing you know, he’s fuckin’ recruiting,” Johnston continues, sipping at his coffee and shaking his head.  He reaches for a file and hands it to Rutherford, says, “This is how good this kid is – he managed to convince Evgeni Malkin and Sergei Gonchar to leave the Russian mafia to come work for him.”

“How the hell do you do that?” Rutherford asks, unable to keep the awe from his voice.  “Being part of the mafia is part of these guys’ identities.  Maybe they’re just on loan?”

“No, we have surveillance photos of Malkin arguing with Alexander Ovechkin,” Johnston says, rummaging through another file for the photos.  “Ovechkin is leader of the mafia down in D.C., he was trying to get Malkin to come work for him.  Word is that after Malkin refused, Ovechkin put a hit out on Crosby – now, Malkin keeps killing whoever is dumb enough to accept the assignment.”

Rutherford looks up from the file.  Then he picks up a photo, shows it to Johnston and asks, “What’s the deal with Crosby and this dog?”

“That,” Johnston says, pointing to the picture, “is the million dollar question, sir.”

 

-x-

 

 _May 2014_.

 

Sidney doesn’t move.  He just stares.

The room is dark and Sidney’s leaning against a wall, keeping himself in shadow.  In the corner, he knows Steve is sitting – waiting only for Sidney’s command.  Daniel Carcillo is sitting chained to a chair, a single, bare lightbulb swinging above it.

It’s cliché but the effect can’t be denied when Carcillo’s eyes dart around the room, wide and filled with fear.

“You had a week, Carcillo,” Sidney finally says, “and that was already an extension.  Where’s my money?”

Carcillo’s head snaps to where he hears Sidney’s voice.

“Look, man, I’m sorry—” he starts.

“I didn’t ask _if you were sorry_ ,” Sidney snaps, pushing off the wall and walking around the circle of light until he was behind Carcillo, “I asked _where the **fuck** my money is_.”

Carcillo’s breathing gets heavier as his panic settles in; he tries to turn to look at Sidney.  “Sid, I _promise_ , I’ll get you everything, man,” he says, voice pleading.

Sidney doesn’t say anything, just snaps his fingers.  Steve snarls once and then he surges forward – fangs dropped and gleaming.

Sidney leaves the room, followed only by screaming and the wet sound of flesh being ripped apart.  He blinks at the light of the hallway, follows it down to the wide openness of the main warehouse.

“Beau,” Sidney says, getting the kid’s attention, “when Steve’s done with his breakfast, make sure to get the cleaners in here.  This company has some inspection or another coming up next week, we don’t need to make their lives more difficult than our presence already does.”

“Yes, sir,” Beau responds, immediately pulling out his phone and quickly sending a text.  After a moment, his phone chirps at him and Beau looks up, says to Sidney, “They’ll be here by six tonight.”

“Good, thank you,” Sidney says.

“The Germans have that bundle of new recruits across the street,” Beau says, glancing down at the schedule he has pulled up on his phone, “I’m arranging it so they’ll be leaving in time to catch a glance of Steve.  Goc says this group is cocky, so perhaps a little bit of fear will help.”

Sidney nods and glances at his watch. It was how Beau’s mind worked so similarly to Sidney's that made Sid take him under his wing almost immediately. 

(Beau had originally worked in one of Sidney’s poker houses as a look-but-don’t-touch display, but then Flower had called Sid.

“This kid is beautiful, yes,” Flower had said, “but he’s too smart to be here.  You must find him somewhere else to work.”

Sidney had paused – Flower rarely talked to any of the workers, much less thought them to be on any level of intelligence.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Sidney said as he told his driver, Zach Sill, that they were making a detour. 

Ten minutes of talking to Beau had convinced Sidney that Flower had made the right call; it certainly hadn’t hurt that Steve had gone right up to Beau, sniffed his hand, and then butted his head against Beau’s thigh.

“You’re coming with me, kid,” Sidney said, motioning for Flower to have the kid's things packed and put into Sidney’s car.)

Sidney’s about to whistle for Steve when he hears the clicking of claws against tile.

“There you are,” he says, looking at Steve’s bloody face and chest, “c’mon.”

Steve trots out in front of Sidney and Beau, pausing so Sill could open the door, and then bounding out into the sunlight.  Sidney smirks when he hears someone scream.

 

-

 

_August 9, 2002._

 

The first time Sidney sees Steve – Sidney is kneeling over his best friend’s body and he’s soaked in blood.

“I can help you,” Steve says to Sidney, seeming so large then, as his eyes flashed gold.  “I can help you get your revenge.”

“And what do you want from me?” Sidney asks, though he doesn’t think he would hesitate no matter the cost this stranger demanded.

Steve leans in, rubs his clawed hands along Sidney’s jaw, “I want their corpses when you’re done.”

Sidney shivers, nods and says, “Fine.  Yes.”

Steve’s smirk grows wide and he presses a hard kiss against Sidney’s lips.  It’s Sidney’s first kiss outside of his fumbling practices with Jack.

(“What are you?” Sidney asks Steve later, when he’s curled in his bed and he can’t close his eyes without watching Jack jerk and fall and bleed.

“Werewolf,” Steve says, curling around Sidney protectively and running his hands through Sidney’s hair, “and before you ask, no – I can’t change you.  You have to be born one of us.”

“Why are you doing this?” he asks.

“Because ‘wolves need someone to protect,” Steve says after a pause, his voice is quiet and there’s a note of sadness, “I need someone to protect.  I was looking and I saw you and Jack walking, and then—” he shrugs.

“Thanks, Steve,” Sidney says, grabs Steve’s hand and lacing their fingers together.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Steve says, his tone going low and dangerous, “wait until you have your revenge.”

Sidney nods, pulls Steve’s hand up until it’s under Sidney’s chin, locking them together.  Slowly, Sidney’s eyes close and he slips into sleep – dreaming of bullets and blood and the building of an empire.)

 

-

 

More often than not, it’s Geno who Sidney invites back to his bed.  (Because Geno is big and dangerous, more comfortable with a knife than with a gun; and his loyalty to Sidney and to the Penguins is infallible.)

Sidney shuts the door, settles on the bed, and spreads his legs – loving how eagerly Geno settles between them, his breath hot on Sidney’s face and his teeth blunt-sharp against Sidney’s skin.

There are other times when Sidney goes down to see Flower, tells him he wants someone new for the night.

(Flower just smirks, points out someone on the floor, says, “Try him, Sid, he’s a frisky little thing.  I know you’ll like him” or “She just walk in today, Sid; a runaway.  May need someone help her forget bad things?”)

On nights when he’s alone – Steve shifts, climbs up beside him and buries his nose underneath Sidney’s ear.  Then, in a whisper, Steve tells all the secrets he’s heard (because no one cares what they say in front of a sleeping wolf).

And when all the secrets have been told, Sidney kisses him – because no matter how much he enjoys Geno or Beau or any of the others, Steve was his first.

 

-x-

 

 _December 29, 2014_.

 

“All we know about it,” Johnston says, “is that it’s a _wolf_ and his name is Steve.”

“ _Steve?_ ” Rutherford asks, completely disbelieving.  “Crosby named his fucking wolf _Steve?_ ”

Johnston just shrugged helplessly.

“Its name is Steve,” he continues, “and everyone we’ve picked up is completely terrified of the thing.  We picked up Olli Maatta, one of Crosby’s elite body guards – not that you could tell, the kid’s all of twenty-fucking-years-old – and the only thing he would tell us was that Steve was ‘more than wolf’.  Whatever that means.”

“Olli Maatta?” Rutherford’s eyebrows furrow before he begins flicking through various files.  “Where have I heard that name?”

“He worked for the Finnish crime syndicate,” Johnston says, “he was in a relationship with the leader Teemu Selanne.  At some point, Selanne went through Pittsburgh to fly out of the US.  When he realized that Maatta wasn’t with him anymore, he sent Jussi Jokinen back over to fetch him.”

“Then what happened?” Rutherford prompts when Johnston pauses.

Johnston looks up, shrugs, “Jokinen stayed, too.”

“Seriously?” Rutherford asks.

“Yep,” Johnston says, “but we had thought that maybe something happened to him, when he hadn’t been spotted in a few months.  The thing about Crosby is that he likes to bury his people quietly – so we never really know what’s happened to them unless we bring someone in and they’re willing to tell us.  Turns out he sent Jokinen down to Sunrise, Florida to build relations with the Panthers.”

“Well, shit,” Rutherford says, leans back and scrubs a hand over his face.  A picture on his desk catches his eye and he holds it up, “Who’s the pretty boy?”

“Ah, Kris Letang,” Johnston says, “he’s a French Canadian, trains all of Crosby’s fighters.  He’s also in a relationship with this guy,” Johnston hands over another picture of three men, he taps on a man on the right of Letang, “Marc-Andre Fleury.  They call him Flower – he runs all of Crosby’s ‘poker’ houses.”   He taps on the man on the far left, says, “This is Pascal ‘Duper’ Dupuis.  He and Craig Adams, who actually went to Harvard, manage Crosby’s money.  They decide who gets loans and for how much.”

“This is a hell of a system he’s got set up,” Rutherford says.

“Would you believe me if I told you it only took him two years to build it up?” Johnston says.  “He controls the city.  He mostly leaves the smaller gangs alone, but as soon as they start fighting with each other – he sends in his own guys and wipes out both of the groups.  He doesn’t tolerate drive-bys, and any and all hits have to be approved by Chris Kunitz _and_ Paul Martin, to prevent bribing one.  Kunit and Martin are Crosby's spies; they've got eyes and ears all over the city.”

“Why would he care about minor gang fights?”

“Because of this guy,” Johnston says, placing a file on top of everything else.  The folder was old, the corners torn.  “Jack Johnson; one of Crosby best friends growing up.  When they were still in high school, Jack was killed by a stray bullet in a drive-by shooting.  The psychiatrists say it seems like that was what got Crosby involved in gangs – he would have had a very promising hockey career, otherwise.”

“Shame,” Rutherford says, shakes his head.

“Yeah,” Johnston says as he stands, makes his way over to the coffee pot, “it is.”

 

-x-

 

 _January 2014_.

 

“Sid—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sidney says, cutting Geno off as he slowly peels off his suit jacket and hands it to Kasperi.  He takes out his cufflinks, puts them into Kasperi’s hand.  “Thank you,” Sidney says to the boy as he nods and leaves the room.

“Will have to at some point,” Geno says, voice insistent.

Sidney whirls on Geno; out of the corner of his eye, he sees Steve stand – the fur along his back rising.

“I don’t _have_ to do anything,” Sidney snarls, trying to keep his hold on his temper, “if he wants me dead, then he can _fucking_ try it!  Better men then Claude Giroux have tried, and they’ve all failed.”

“Of all people you make peace with,” Geno says, “why not Philadelphia?”

“Just because we’ve established trades with Chicago, Dallas, and Montreal means absolutely fuck-all where Philly is concerned,” Sidney says, never backing down from Geno as his eyes danced with rage.  He kept his voice low, icy.  “And if Giroux steps foot in Pittsburgh one more goddamned time, then I’m burning his city until it is _nothing_ but ashes.”

“You do that, then you start war with Boston,” Geno says, his face hard.  “You may be friends with Jamie Benn, but he love Seguin.  And Seguin’s home town is Boston – who you think he side with?”

“I can handle Jamie Benn,” Sidney says, waving a hand and walking over to Steve.  “Besides,” he looks over his shoulder at Geno, “I’m not trying to go to war.”

“I know, Sid,” Geno says, walking over and pressing a soft kiss at the edge of Sidney’s mouth and ignoring the warning growl from Steve (Geno was the only person who was brave enough to do that and Sidney loved him for it), “just hate Flyers?”

“Don’t act like I’m the only one,” Sidney says, “our two cities have hated each other for decades.  And I have no inclination to change that right this moment.  Do you?”  Sidney raises a challenging eyebrow at Geno.

“I think I miss Max,” Geno answers after a beat.

“We all miss Max,” Sidney says, a note of wistfulness that only someone who had known him as long as Geno would be able to hear, “he’s the one who helped Flower and Tanger get over themselves and get together.”

The silence settles around them.

“Sir,” Kasperi says, he’s holding out a cell phone to Sidney, “Flower wishes to speak with you.”

Sidney nods and drops his arms from around Steve and accepts the phone.

“Hey, what’s—” he stops, listens.  Then his face goes pale, snaps, “I’m on my way.”

“What’s wrong?” Geno asks, watches as Sidney tosses the phone back to Kasperi.

“Kris just had a stroke,” Sidney says to Geno before he turns to Kasperi.  “Get my car out front.”

 

-

 

When one of Sidney Crosby’s top lieutenants goes down, word about it travels fast, and the cops are waiting for Sid outside of the hospital.  Geno reaches inside his coat and Sidney puts a hand over Geno’s, shakes his head.

“I don’t have time for you, boys,” Sidney says, slowly getting out of his car and beginning to walk towards the hospital entrance.

“Too bad, Crosby,” says Mike Kadar, the detective in charge of trying to pin anything he could on Sidney or any of the Penguins.  Despite that, Sidney didn’t mind Kadar – the man was fair and, unlike others on the force, he never tried to manufacture evidence in order to put Sidney away.

“Tell you what, Kades,” Sidney says, “give me time with Tanger and I’ll go in with you for a few hours?”

“Any other time I would have let you,” Kadar says, stepping forward, “but you’ll never believe who was found just an hour ago.”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” Sidney says, hooking a finger into the collar around Steve’s neck when the wolf made to lurch forward.

“Dan Bylsma,” Kadar glances down at Steve, then adds: “he seems to be missing his face.  Actually, a lot of him seems to be missing.”

“Bylsma?” Sidney asks, keeps his voice level as he holds Kadar’s gaze.  “That name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Crosby—”

“ _Kadar_ ,” Sidney cuts him off, his voice filled with cold authority that has everyone around him automatically shrinking backwards – and then actually stepping backwards as Sidney slips his finger out from under Steve’s collar, “don’t push me.  Not tonight.”

Kadar blinks, swallows, then just nods.

Sidney doesn’t say anything else, just sweeps his way into the hospital – Steve and Geno on his heels.

 

-x-

 

 _December 29, 2014_.

 

“Letang recovered,” Johnston says, “Kadar’s faith in himself almost didn’t.”

“Almost?” Rutherford asks.

“When he told Shero that he was afraid he had lost the faith of his men,” Johnston says, picking up a file and opening it to a page that had been bookmarked with a bright red post-it note, “word got to Beau Bennett,” he hands the folder to Rutherford.

“How?”

“No one knows how Bennett gets his information,” Johnston says, waving a dismissive hand before pointing to the folder.  “The point is that, after getting Crosby’s permission, of course, Bennett walked right into the station, sat down at Kadar’s desk, and began talking.”

Rutherford’s mouth drops as he looks over his glasses at Johnston.  Then his eyes drop down to the page.

 

-

 

**_ Transcription from Beau Bennett’s interview (February 24, 2013) _ **

**Beau Bennett** : First thing you have to know, Kadar, is that this is not a confession.  The information I’m presenting to you has been approved by Sid as a way to fill in some of the blanks we know you have in your files.

 **Mike Kadar** :  Thanks for that.

 **BB** : You’re welcome.  The thing is this – it seems you underestimate Sidney’s power.  If Sidney wanted to start a war with the police force, he absolutely could.  He has friends all across the country who would happily send him reinforcements as soon as he asks.

He and Jonny Toews, the head of the Blackhawks mafia out in Chicago, are childhood friends who used to play hockey together.  Jonny’s got more snipers on hand than he really has any use for now that he’s established.  He loans them out in exchange for favors.

Now, Jonny is college buddies with T.J. Oshie just down in St. Louis.  Oshie is married to the Blues's mob leader David Backes.  Backes has a standing kill order on Jamie Benn – which is awkward.

 **MK** : Why was it awkward?

 **BB** : Because, Sid knows Jamie Benn.  Sid was the one who taught him how to structure his organization for maximum efficiency.  He had even sent Sergei Gonchar down to make sure Jamie knew what he was doing.  As a show of good faith, Jamie sent James Neal and Matt Niskanen up to us.  And through Jamie’s husband, Tyler Seguin, Sidney rebuilt his connection with Patrice Bergeron in Boston. 

Also, it turns out that Tyler and Patrick Kane, Jonny’s fiancé, became best friends during a backpacking trip across Switzerland.

But, back to Patrice.  Patrice may not be in charge of the Boston mafia, but he’s third in command.  Unfortunately, James Neal, who actually just got engaged to Paulie so you should send them a card, got into a fight with a few of Zdeno Chara’s favored body guards a few months ago and, well, Chara’s not really willing to let it go.

Of course, Alexander Ovechkin has had a lot to say about Sid sending a Russian down to Texas.  Sidney doesn’t really listen to him, though.  Whenever Ovi comes up from D.C., Sid just lets Geno deal with him.

 **MK** : Does Ovechkin really have a standing kill order on Crosby?

 **BB** : He does.

 **MK** : Why are you smiling like that?

 **BB** : Sorry, Kades, that’s all Sid has allowed me to say on that subject.

 **MK** : What can you tell us about the wolf?  Steve?

 **BB** : What wolf? ( _Bennett looks at watch_ )  Time is up, Mike.  Sidney hopes that this information will be enough to convince you to keep chasing him – he absolutely does not say that he’s more than willing to kill any of your replacements.

 

-

 

“Is Kadar still working on Crosby?” Rutherford asks.

Johnston looks down at his desk, grimaces.  “No,” he says, “Mike was killed in a hit-and-run accident.  We never caught the guy.”

“Oh,” Rutherford says.

“ _We_ ,” Johnston leans forward, “never caught the guy – Drew Doughty.  Crosby did.  His boys dumped Doughty on the precinct steps after relieving him of his fingers, a kidney, one of his lungs, and half of his liver.  They even stapled a note to his forehead.

“It said: ‘This is the guy who killed Kadar.  I’ve taken my pound of flesh, take yours.’”

“That’s—fuck,” Rutherford exhales harshly, shakes his head.  “How did he manage to even survive that?”

“Crosby owns the hospitals, owns the doctors,” Johnston says.  “The same guy who did this to Doughty,” he taps his desk, “is the same guy who pays off hundreds of hospital bills throughout the year.  He actively recruits, but also encourages kids to go to college before committing full time to the Penguins.  He has his own medical staff on standby at all of his poker houses in case someone ODs.”

Rutherford shakes his head, tosses the file in his hand onto a stack of others, and runs a hand over his head.  He asks, “Has anyone taken over for Kadar?”

“Detective Rick Tocchet,” Johnston says, motioning out of the window to a detective who was yelling into his phone.  “Turns out he used to be a member of the Penguins back when Mario Lemieux was in charge.  But when he got married, Lemieux let him go on the condition that he leave Pittsburgh for twenty years.”

“And he did?”

“He did,” Johnston says with a nod, “he left the gang and Pittsburgh in ’94 and came back just this past summer.”

“What did Crosby do?”

“Taunted him mostly,” Johnston says.  “Sid would have people follow Tocchet around, causing little minor fender benders just to see how he’d react.”

Rutherford shakes his head, chuckling despite himself.  “I assume that since he’s not dead,” he says, motioning towards the transcript of Beau Bennett’s not-confession, “that Sidney approves of him?

“It’s still early,” Johnston says.  “The other day, Crosby spray-painted several body outlines all over Tocchet’s driveway.”

“He knows where Tocchet lives?” Rutherford asks, suddenly sitting up straighter.

“Beau Bennett,” Johnston says, as if that explained everything.

(It did in a way.)

 

-x-

 

_October 2014._

 

“Sid,” Kris says, pauses and looks away.

“What is it, Tanger?” Sidney asks, narrowing his eyes and furrowing his brow in concern, glancing over to Flower before going back to Kris.  “Are you okay?”

“It’s Olli,” Kris says, passes Sidney a large envelope, “the results just came back. He has a cancroid tumor in his thyroid.”

“Ah, shit,” Sidney whispers, pushes away his plate of pasta and leans back in his dining room chair as he accepts the envelope.

“That’s not the worst part,” Flower says, rubbing his fingers over his backwards Pirates hat, “Teemu Selanne is back in town.  He wants his pet returned.”

Sidney’s eyes snap up from the x-rays and medical reports.  “Selanne’s not getting anyone back,” he says, “I’m keeping Olli.  If he wants Jussi, then he can go down to Florida and see if he can pry him away from either Lu or Willie Mitchell.”

“He’s insistent,” Kris presses, “he is coming after Olli.”

“Shoot ‘im, then,” Sidney says, standing from the dining table and heading to the study room he had on the lower level of his home.  He peeks in, sees Beau and Steve on the couch – Beau’s fingers rapidly tapping away at a laptop as Steve’s large head rested against his thigh.

“Hey, Sid,” Beau says without looking up.

“Hey, Sunshine,” Sidney says before looking down at Steve.  “C’mon, Steve, I’m putting you on protective detail.”

Steve lifts his head, cocks it to the side.

“Teemu’s come for Olli,” Sidney says in answer to the silent question.

Steve growls low in his throat, his upper lip curling.  Sidney chuckles at the pointed lack of reaction Beau exhibits as Steve jumps down from couch.

“What are you going to do, Sid?” Beau asks.

“Olli has a tumor in his thyroid,” Sidney says, watching Beau carefully – Beau’s eyes immediately jump up to Sidney’s and his fingers stutter to a stop, “it’s cancerous.  So Steve is going to stay with Olli while he gets the tumor removed and, once he’s out of surgery, Olli’s coming back here.”

“Careful,” Kris says, forcing himself to grin when he looks up at Sidney, “you’re thing for tall and blond is showing.”

“Teemu should have kept a better eye on him, if he wanted to keep him so much,” Sidney says, turning to look at his head trainer.  “Besides, Olli’s much better at security then he is lying on his back.”

“I wouldn’t know, sir,” Kris says, smirking mischievously as he glances at Beau.  Sidney follows his gaze.

“Are you fraternizing with security?” Sidney asks Beau.

“I prefer to call it ‘building relations with’,” Beau answers with a sniff and a twitch of his lips.

Sidney laughs softly before he looks down at Steve and jerks his head towards the front door.

 

-

 

There’s ringing in Sidney’s ears and there’s too much blood in his mouth and he feels teeth where they shouldn’t be.

He feels hands on him, pulling him up, throwing him down.

He thinks he hears Flower’s voice, but it may have been Tanger.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks, tries to push against the arms holding him down, _Olli_.

 

-x-

 

 _December 30, 2014_.

 

“Teemu Selanne really managed to get close enough to shoot Crosby in the face?” Rutherford asks Johnston first thing the next morning.

“Yep,” Johnston says, pours himself his coffee, “he only lived for five seconds afterwards.  Witnesses say that the wolf came out of nowhere and tore out his throat.  Letang and Orpik killed everyone else – not that we can prove that, of course.  No one is talking.”

“Of course,” Rutherford echoes.

 

-x-

 

_October 2014._

 

(Steve doesn’t let anyone into Sidney’s room besides nurses and doctors.  Kris tries once, but as soon as Steve lunges forward, Kris scrambles quickly out of the room.)

Sidney wakes up slowly, the drugs in his system making him feel sluggish and heavy.

“Easy, Sid,” Steve says, his voice soft.  Sidney forces his eyes open – Steve never shifted unless he was absolutely sure they were alone.  As if sensing his thoughts, Steve says, “I knew you were waking up, I just had to warn you – don’t talk, okay?  Your jaw’s broken.”

Sidney gives the barest nod, realizing that the numbness in his face was something he should be thankful for.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, catches Sidney’s eyes before leaning down and pressing a kiss to Sid’s forehead, “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

Sidney can’t do anything, just blinks up at him.

“There’s a nurse coming,” Steve says, pressing one more kiss against Sidney’s skin before pulling back to shift.  Then he jumps softly into the bed to lay across Sid’s feet, pressing his head underneath Sidney’s hand.

The nurse comes in slow and cautious, obviously projecting each move.  Sidney blinks at him before glaring half-heartedly at Steve.  The wolf huffs and cuddles in closer.

 

-

 

Sidney doesn’t stay in the hospital long.

Beau fills the silence in the car with detailed accounts of what happened – how Teemu had shown up at the restaurant the day Olli had been released from the hospital; how Steve immediately nipped Olli into running, herding him down back alleys until he was safe before doubling back to Sidney; how Brooks was too slow on the draw.

“Everything just seemed to slow down,” Beau says, keeping his eyes on the floor of the car as he chewed on the tip of his thumb, “you fell and then he,” Beau motions to Steve, “just fucking _roars_ and jumps up and tears out Selanne’s throat.  No one even saw him come back in, but he’s just there – and, fuck, man.”

 _You didn’t know what was going to happen_ , Sidney taps out onto his phone, shows the words to Beau.

“I was supposed to,” Beau says, shakes his head.

 _~Brooks was supposed to_ , Sidney types, a glare in his eyes. _He’s head of security for a reason._

“What are you going to do?” Beau asks, sounding as if he didn’t necessarily want to know the answer.

Sidney levels a look at Beau and doesn’t respond.

(That night, he demotes Brooks.  Tells him he has to work his way back up through the ranks – in D.C.  Nisky was going with him to supervise his progress.

“Anything, sir,” Brooks says, his eyes wet and red, “I’ll do anything.”

 _Then leave_ , Sidney types.)

 

-

_December 5, 2014_.

 

“I hear you’ve got a few foot soldiers you’re looking to get off your hands,” Shane Doan says.

He’s sitting across from Sidney, fingers swiping at the moisture on the side of his tumbler of old scotch.  Sidney smirks at the man’s direct approach.

“Yes, I do,” Sidney says, looks pointedly over Shane’s shoulder at the tall body guard who was deep in conversation with Marcel Goc.

Shane follows Sidney’s gaze and smirks.  “How about a little exchange, then?” he asks.

“I can give you Philip Samuelsson,” Sidney says after a beat, “his father worked for Mario, so he knows what to do.  I just have too many soldiers, right now, and he needs to be somewhere he’ll have an opportunity.”

“Anything else?” Shane asks.

Sidney gives him an indulgent look before glancing back to watch Rob Klinkhammer.  “You can have a look at the next crop,” Sidney relents, “I have 10 kids coming back from college – four boys and six girls.  You can pick one for yourself on the condition that they’re used as _soldiers_.  Nothing less.”

“Who would have thought the rumors of you recruiting females for your army were true?” Shane asks.

Sidney shrugs.  He believed anyone could be dangerous given the proper motivations.  So he had always paid attention to skill level – not gender.  It was why his top sniper team was Hilary Knight and Julie Chu (a few of his male cohorts had laughed – at least until a red dot appeared on their chest).

“We have a deal?” Sidney asks.

“We do,” Shane says, holding out his hand.

Sidney accepts it, then watches as Shane stands and buttons his suit coat.  He walks over to Rob and whispers something Sidney can’t hear.  He just watches as Rob swallows, his jaw muscles working, before he nods tightly.

Rob looks up, meets Sidney’s eyes, and smiles.  Even from this distance, Sidney can see how the smile doesn’t reach Rob’s eyes, can see the resentment building there.

Sidney doesn’t smile back, just nods.

 

-x-

 

 _December 30, 2014_.

 

“How are you feeling about all of this?” Johnston asks.

“He’s something,” Rutherford says.  He looks at the stacks and stacks of files spread out around his still new office – files filled with nothing but circumstantial and insufficient evidence, with eye-witness accounts that will never be testified to in court.

“He’ll slip up, eventually,” Johnston says, as if sensing Rutherford’s depressing thoughts, “they always do.”

“Yeah,” Rutherford says, finding he was okay with waiting.  “Eventually.”

 

-z-

 

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More headcanons for this 'verse:  
> \--Werewolves are not all that common, that's why Steve's the only one Sidney meets. (EDIT Feb 18: With the way the next chapters are unfolding, I'm making it so that it's actually commonly believed that werewolves are extinct after they were massacred during the late 1800s/early 1900s.)
> 
> \--Wayne Gretzky used to be in charge of the Edmonton gang, but his torrid love affair with Marty McSorley would have gotten them killed, so they moved down to LA where they could love each other in peace.
> 
> \--Ovi has that kill order on Sid in order to flush out anyone who may be a danger to his bestie.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Brandon Sutter wants is a place to call home; Geno adopts Bobby Farnham; Sidney gives out guns as thank you gifts; Beau Bennett (almost) finds love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--Character note: Celina Pompeani is one of the hosts for PensTV and included because this fic needed at least one female character.  
> \--Pairings: Beau/Borts, Beau/Olli

-z-

 

_July 2007_

 

Brandon Sutter fell asleep on the bus – he was supposed to get off to take the connection to North Carolina from Boston.  He finds himself in Pittsburgh instead.

 

-

 

“Bad time to be in Pittsburgh,” says a cop in a beat uniform.  He’s tall, talking to his partner – a woman with blond hair tied neatly into a bun.

Brandon ducks his head, lifts his cup of coffee to his face, and pretends to read the donut menu.

“I don’t know, Kasan,” the woman says, “crime is down and it seems like a few of the gangs are in their death throes.  Maybe Crosby will be good for the city?”

“He’s 19,” the officer – Kasan – hisses, “from the looks of it, he’s not going anywhere.  If he actually brings the Penguins back, restores them, it’ll be easy for him to just start a war with the cops.  And guess what, Crechiolo?  You and I will be on the front lines.”

Crechiolo sighs, nods sadly while picking at her bagel.  “C’mon,” she finally says, “we better get back to driving around.  Last thing we need is for Shero to start yelling at us for spending all our time here.”

Kasan nods and stands.

Brandon watches as they leave and wonders.

 

-

 

It’s his third week in Pittsburgh when he finally catches sight of what is supposed to be one of the Penguins’ Houses – the location of which always varied depended on who Brandon had asked.  Steeling himself, he walks in.

The place is dim and almost empty, with a bar running along the far back wall.  A staircase by the bar, leads up to a second floor filled with rooms blocked only by flimsy doors.  On his way to the bar, Brandon passes several pool tables and regular dining tables – booths even line both the two side walls.

The bartender, a lanky man with a mustache and soul patch, eyes him until Brandon sits down.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asks, wary.

“I’ll take your darkest and cheapest from the tap,” Brandon says.  The bartender looks like he’s about to ask for Brandon’s ID, but ultimately just shrugs and gets Brandon his beer.

“What brings you to Pittsburgh?” he asks.  Brandon hears the familiar lilt of a French Canadian accent and feels a sharp stab of homesickness.

“Missed my bus,” Brandon says.

The bartender chuckles and leans forward, “You plan on finding your way out of here?”

“Depends,” Brandon says, fights to keep his voice neutral as he looks up, “what’s the employment like around here?”

“Depends,” the bartender says, echoing Brandon, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “on how willing you are to get your hands a little dirty.”

“All I need is a roof over my head,” Brandon says.

The bartender grins and turns away, grabs a card from next to the register, and turns back to Brandon.  “Call this man,” he says, “he will have work.”

“You’re pretty trusting,” Brandon says even as he takes the card, it reads _Brooks Orpik_.

“The relief in your eyes when you hear my accent,” he says, leans forward again, “you are Canadian?”

“Dual citizenship,” Brandon says, “but mostly Canadian, yeah.”

The bartender nods to himself, flicks the card in Brandon’s hand, “Call him before tomorrow.  I will let him know to expect you, mister…?”

“Brandon Sutter,” he says, extending a hand over the bar.

“Marc-Andre Fleury,” Marc says, accepting Brandon’s hand, “call me ‘Flower’.  You, I will call ‘Flat Stanley’.”

“Um,” Brandon hesitates, not quite sure how he felt about his new nickname – but Flower waves him off and busies himself with wiping down the bar.

(Much to his chagrin, Flat Stanley sticks.  So does his involvement with the Penguins as he’s easily accepted into the fold.)

 

-x-

 

_June 2008_

 

Bobby Farnham didn’t always know how to fight.  He knew how to get _in_ them, knew how to get under people’s skin in the worst way – but he didn’t necessarily know how to defend himself.

He’s 18 when Evgeni Malkin finds him getting beat up by Taylor Doherty, a 6’7” monster who claimed Bobby had been hitting on his boyfriend (it might have been true).  Taylor’s fists pause once he notices Malkin is standing there, watching them.

“Don’t mind me,” Malkin says, huffing a laugh as he crosses his arms over his chest, “carry on.”

“We’re done anyway,” Taylor says, dropping Bobby unceremoniously.

“Like fuck we are,” Bobby retorts, grinning – knowing that there would be blood in his teeth – and trying to stand up.

“You’re fucking sick,” Taylor sneers walking towards the lip of the alley and cautiously edging his way around Malkin, and then he takes off at a sprint.

Malkin laughs to himself before he pushes off the wall and walks over to Bobby.  Bobby feels the panic in his chest, hears again how his mama warned him over and over to run if ever saw one of the Penguins, to keep his eyes down, to stay out of their line of sight.  He feels trapped now, watching as Malkin approaches.

Malkin is impeccably dressed, just like all of the Penguins are, in a tailored suit.  It’s wide at the shoulders and the pants show off just how long his legs are.  If rumors were to be believed, he was also hiding at least twenty knives of various sizes.

“Why you pick fight when you not know how?” he asks Bobby, his voice deep and his Russian accent thick.

“I’m not sure,” Bobby answers as he pulls himself to his feet.  Malkin lightly touches his chin, turning Bobby’s face to the right, then to the left before he tsks.

“Come,” Malkin orders, turns around and leads Bobby out of the alley – Bobby realizes he has no choice but to follow.  They stop just outside of a general store that Bobby recognizes with a sinking feeling.

He opens his mouth to try to convince Malkin that they can go somewhere else, but the Russian has already disappeared inside.

“Fuck,” Bobby curses, following slowly. 

As soon as he enters he hears: “Robert Farnham – where the hell have you been?” his mother screams as she tears out from the back room, she stutters to a stop when she notices Malkin.  “Mr. Malkin,” she says, her voice shaking, “we weren’t expecting someone by for another week.”

Malkin cocks his head to the side, confused, before he shakes his head and offers a rueful smile, saying, “No, no – not Collecting.  Only here to buy towel and this,” he brandishes a dishtowel and hydrogen peroxide before turning back to Bobby.  “From what I see, do not need stitches.”

“You don’t have to do that,” his mama says, “we have a first aid kit in the back.  And this is my son, so.  I can treat him, is what I mean.”

“Ah, okay,” Malkin says, lets Bobby’s mama take the items from him.  Then he turns back to Bobby, says, “I come see you tomorrow – you pick fight with tall guy, I’m like this.  You can work for me.”

“Um, I actually—”

Malkin holds up a finger when his phone begins to ring.  He lifts his eyebrows and answers it, “Sid?  Where are you?” he laughs loudly and starts for the door.  “Sid-Sid, hang on,” he turns back to Bobby, “be here at noon.  Don’t forget to fix face.”  And then he’s walking out of the store and the last thing Bobby hears as the door closes is: “Sid, you never guess what I’m see today.”

 

-

 

While Bobby would prefer _not_ to get involved with the Penguins, there was absolutely no way he was going to ignore an appointment with Evgeni Malkin. 

There was a rumor that the last guy who had pissed him off and been cut up while he was still alive and his family had had to watch (this wasn’t true).  Another one said that Malkin had pulled out a guy’s fingernails, toenails, teeth, and even cut out his tongue, because he was writing false things about Sidney Crosby (this _was_ true, the guy’s name was Dejan Kova-something).

“What are you going to do?” his mama asks, keeping her eyes on the door as she put her thumb to her lip – a nervous tic she had learned from her husband.

“What can he do?” his dad says, his face stoic.

Bobby doesn’t say anything, can’t even bring himself to look at the clock.

 

-

 

Malkin comes into the store at 12:30, says, “Sorry so late. I had business.”

“It’s fine,” Bobby stammers out, forces his eyes away from the blood on Malkin’s shoes.

“Yes, I know,” Malkin says, turns back towards the door and waves for Bobby to follow him, “come now.”

Malkin opens a car door and pushes Bobby into it, before sliding in after him.

“We go see Tanger,” Malkin says to his driver, a woman whom Bobby recognizes as Celina Pompeani – she had been all over the news for her involvement in a street racing ring.

“Yes, sir,” she says, pulling the car into traffic.

“Tanger?” Bobby asks.

“Kris Letang,” Malkin clarifies, “he will show you how to fight.”

“I’m sorry, but,” Bobby hesitates, “but, um, why do you care?  About me?”

“I just know things,” Malkin says, “you will be best fighter, I can tell.  How old is you?”

“I’m 18,” Bobby says.

“You going to college?”

“I was planning on it,” Bobby says.  “I got accepted into Brown University, so I was going to go there.”

“Ivy League, yes?” Malkin asks, furrowing his brows together as if he was trying to remember something he had heard before.

“Yeah,” Bobby answers.

“Good!” Malkin says, patting Bobby on the chest.  “You go college, can come work for me during summer.  When finished with school – you work for me full time."

“Uh, okay.”

 

-

 

Looking back, and knowing Geno as he does now, Bobby still can’t figure out what it was that made Geno stop at the lip of an alley to watch an 18-year-old kid get beat up, just to help him out later.

Geno will say that it was because he saw only a kid taking on a giant.

“Or maybe you just got infected with Sidney’s penchant for picking up lost causes,” Brandon Sutter will say around his french fry as Geno just shrugs.

“Fuck you,” Bobby says, stealing a fry, “I’m not a lost cause.”

“Not anymore,” Geno says, smirking.

 

-x-

 

Getting a gun from Sidney Crosby was a Big Deal.  It meant that he accepted you; that you had won his approval – it meant that you would be a Penguin forever.

 

-

 

He started the tradition in mid-2009, after the last embers of resistance had faded from other gangs and Sidney’s control over Pittsburgh was absolute.

On July 31st, Geno’s birthday, Sidney presented him a .50-caliber gold-plated Desert Eagle.  Along the slide, carefully etched in beautiful cursive script: _Zhenya_.

“Thank you for standing beside me,” Sidney says, smiling softly as Geno looked up at him from where he sat at the table.  They were the same words he would repeat every time he welcomed someone into his inner circle.

“Is beautiful, Sid,” Geno breathes, surging up from his seat and throwing his arms around Sidney, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Air, G,” Sidney chokes, laughing even as Geno squeezes him too hard.  A nip from Steve on Geno’s ankle finally makes the Russian let go.  “I know you prefer knives,” Sidney says when he’s caught his breath, “so I don’t expect you to really use it.  It’s more symbolic.”

“I carry everywhere anyway,” Geno says, grinning wide as he looked down at the gun, running his fingers against the cool surface.

“Should I set up an appointment out at the range, sir?” Bobby Farnham asks.  (He was back in Pittsburgh for the summer, in between semesters at Brown University.)

“Yes,” Geno says, still not tearing his eyes away from the pistol.

 

-

 

Marc Andre gets his gun next – on the 28th of November.

“Thank you for standing beside me,” Sidney says.

Marc carefully opens the lid of the long ornate oaken box even as he says, “I don’t know what you mean, Sid – I was sitting.”

Sidney chuckles, grins wide at Marc’s soft hitch in breath.

It was a 12-guage Franchi Renaissance Elite with a dark oil-finished walnut stock.  In the stock was burnt _Flower_ in Sidney’s cursive, surrounded by softly curving lines and stylized flowers.

“Thank you, Sidney,” Flower whispers, pulling Sidney into a hug.

“Happy birthday, Flower,” Sidney says, touching their foreheads together briefly.

 

-

 

On January 1st, 2010, Sidney presents Paul Martin and Chris Kunitz with a pair of twin Taurus Judge revolvers with 6.5” barrels.

 _Paulie_ is etched along the barrel of the gun with a blue steel finish; _Kuni_ is etched into the barrel of the gun with the matte stainless finish.

“Thank you for standing beside me,” Sidney smirks at the looks of surprise on both of their faces.

“And it’s not even our birthdays,” Paul says, hefting up the gun and feeling its weight. 

(It had taken Sidney a while to finally settle on the Judge for his two spies and mostly because Paul, who loved revolvers, already seemed to own most of them. 

Steve had been able to peek around Paul’s collection while he and Sidney chatted and came back later to tell Sidney which of the guns Paul didn’t have.)

“I didn’t want to get too predictable,” Sidney says, ignores the pointed way everyone just looks at him.

 

-

 

“This organization has too many April birthdays,” Sidney says to the group, “so everyone gets my gifts today.”

Sidney sets two cherry wood boxes down in front of Craig Adams and Pascal Dupuis, and a cedar-wood case in front of Kris Letang.

 _Harvard Boy_ and _Duper_ were etched along the slides of the two nickel-plated 9mm Firestorm Auto Pistols.

 _Tanger_ was etched along the slide of a 10mm Colt Delta Elite.  (For a month after, Kris wears a cowboy hat and an old style thigh holster.  If that alone wasn’t enough for Sidney to regret his decision – Flower coming up to him and thanking him for helping he and Tanger spice up their sex life definitely did it.)

“Thank you for standing beside me,” Sidney tells them.

(It’ll be two years before he presents another specialized gun.)

 

-

 

_July 2012_

 

Sidney clinks his wine glass and gets his guests’ attention – everyone’s eyes immediately go to the dark wooden box he picks up as he sets his glass down.  All of his usual suspects were here – those in his inner circle and their families and a few local celebrities who had bought their way in.

“There’s someone,” Sidney says, “who has gone above and beyond to keep my ass out of jail – and a few of yours, too.”  There a few chuckles around the room as Sidney gestures with the box.

Sidney steps deeper into the crowd, relishing in how they part for him, until he stops in front of Beau.  Beau looks around and then looks behind him – sees only a wall – before turning back to Sidney.

“Wait, really?” Beau asks, his eyes wide as he looks at Sidney then down at the box.

“If you want I can give it to someone less deserving?” Sidney asks, quirking an eyebrow and taking a half-step back.

“No, no, no,” Beau says hurriedly as he opens his hands.

“That’s what I thought,” Sidney smiles, puts the box in Beau’s hand and says, “thank you for standing beside me.”

“Always, Sidney,” Beau says.  He sets the box down on the table beside him and opens the lid.  Inside was a .45 Colt Single-Action Army Revolver and along the barrel, etched in Sidney’s distinct cursive script, was _My Sunshine_.

“Two years ago today,” Sidney continues after a moment, “I got a phone call from Flower, telling me about this kid too smart to be working the floor.  Next thing I know – I’ve got the best hacker in North America working for me.”

Beau looks up, holds Sidney’s eyes and says, “You realize you’re totally stuck me, right?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Sunshine,” Sidney says, winks, before stepping back as the crowd bursts into applause.

 

-x-

 

_July 2013_

 

“Sid, I’ll be right back,” Beau calls into one of Sidney’s living rooms, “I have to run to the hardware store for duct tape.”

“You know you can just send Zach, right?” Sidney asks, not looking away from the cooking show.

“Zach has today off,” Beau says, “besides, it’s not a big deal.  I’m bored anyway.”

“Suit yourself,” Sidney says, shrugging his shoulder.

Beau grins and waves at the back of Sidney’s head.

 

-

 

Beau was not expecting Robert Bortuzzo.

“Call me Borts, dude,” he says, sticks out his hand, “anything I can help you find?”

“I’m Beau,” Beau says as he shakes the guy’s hand, “and, um, no, I know what I’m looking for.”

“Great,” he says before waving at the register, “I’ll be right here when you’re ready.”

The fact that Borts wasn’t tripping over himself to help Beau made him realize that Borts _didn’t know who he was_.  That or he didn’t care – which was actually highly unlikely.

“Okay,” Beau says, nodding before forcing himself to turn away.  He walks past a few aisles to where he knows the duct tape is located.

(Olli had mentioned that Flower was hoarding Security’s tape as a way to “foster a little light rivalry” between the departments, so Beau decided to get the kid a few rolls for his birthday.)

And because Olli gives the best blow jobs and Beau is a frequent recipient, Beau buys him ten of the ultra-thick rolls of duct tape, putting each roll into his hand basket.  Now, Olli can tape up the bad guys to his heart’s content.

He makes his way to the front of the store, grinning wide when Borts comes into view.

“Find everything okay?” he asks, returning Beau’s smile easily.  He huffs a laugh and raises an eyebrow when he sees what Beau is buying.  “I think I’ve got more duct tape in the back, if you want to buy that, too?”

“A friend of mine needs them for work,” Beau says, watching as Borts begins to scan the rolls of tape.

Borts quirks an eyebrow and chuckles.

Beau thinks he’s just fallen in love.

(He knows he definitely has when, after presenting his gifts to Olli and Olli offers a thank-you-blow-job, he turns it down.  Even Steve gives him a judgmental side-eye, which is unfair because Steve is a wolf and wouldn’t know anything about blow jobs.)

 

-

 

Sidney Crosby is many things – smart and dangerous and terrifying are the first things that come to mind.  But he’s also kind and, for a mob boss, generous with his money – he pays his people well and not even the lowliest Collector wants for much.

So Beau, who had immediately moved into Sidney’s ridiculously large mansion and is paid _very_ well for his Mad-Hacking-And-Information-Collecting Skillz, can absolutely afford to go down to Rob’s Knobs and Nails and buy as much duct tape as he wants.  And a sledge hammer.  And a chainsaw. 

(Both of which he gives to Bobby Farnham, Geno’s assistant-slash-bodyguard-slash-boy-toy, to use on whoever isn’t paying Sidney back that week.)

(“Why isn’t your friend buying his own supplies?” Borts asks when Beau sets down a mallet and a vise-grip.

Derrick said something about wanting to try pulling teeth, so Beau was getting him the vise-grip as an early birthday present.  The mallet was for Olli who had somehow managed to break the sledge hammer – Beau definitely wasn’t asking for details.

“He’s kind of in the middle of a financial rough patch,” Beau says, wishing the lies weren’t so easy to tell.

“You must really like him,” Borts says, eyes cautiously curious.

“He’s okay,” Beau says, looking pointedly at Borts’s lips.

“Oh,” Borts says, his breath hitching as he pauses – his arm half-extended as he handed Beau his items.

“I’ll see you next time,” Beau says, taking the items and walking calmly out of the store, throwing a smirk over his shoulder.)

Sidney draws the line when Beau comes back with three ceiling fans (and a coffee date for the weekend, but Sid doesn’t need to know that).

“Those are tacky and they are getting out of my house right now,” he says, pointing and making the most disgusted face Beau had ever seen on him. 

(And he’s comparing that face to the one Sid made when Patrick Kane of the Blackhawks mob threw up all over Sidney’s shoes.  Jonny had apologized profusely, said that Americans couldn’t hold their liquor. 

Sidney had grimaced before he pointed to Beau and said, “Maybe you’re not looking at the right Americans, because mine is doing just fine.”

Beau had felt incredibly proud afterwards.)

“But, Sid—”

“Where the hell did you get those monstrosities?” Sidney asks, cutting Beau off.  “A garage sale?”

“Rob’s Knobs and Nails,” Beau says, pouting.

“I own that store,” Sidney says, a look of horror crossing his face as he raises a hand to his face, “oh, god, no.  Kasper!”

“Sir?” the young Finn asks, appearing at the doorway.

“Call Robert Bortuzzo,” Sidney says, “tell him that he’s to take this product off his shelves.”

“Yes, sir,” Kasperi says, nodding once before stepping forward to take one of the boxes from Beau and then disappearing down the hall.

“They’re really not that bad,” Beau says, knowing it was a losing battle.

“They really, _really_ are,” Sidney says, wincing as he glances at the boxes still sitting in Beau’s arms.  Then he looks up at Beau through narrowed eyes.  “Why do you keep going down to that store, anyway?  Geno said that you gave Farns a chainsaw last week?”

Beau coughs nervously, looking anywhere but at Sidney.

“Oh, Beau,” Sidney coos, taking a step forward, “do you have a crush on the shopkeeper?”

Beau panics.  “Um,” he says, logically he knows he could never keep a secret from Sidney, so he just finishes with, “Borts is really funny.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Sidney says, still smirking before he crosses his arms.  “Those still aren’t coming in here – take them around the back and burn them.”

“But, Kasper just—”

“Kasper needs the box to tell Bortuzzo which item needs to be done away with,” Sidney says, clearly unimpressed.  “You, however, have no excuse, now get out.”

“Fine,” Beau says, shakes his head, chuckling despite himself.

 

-

 

“Sir, it looks like there’s a situation inside,” Zach says, making Beau’s head jerk up from where he had been going over the day’s schedule as they pulled up to Rob’s Knobs and Nails.

Beau looks out of his window and sees a middle-aged man he doesn’t recognize (which means he’s not part of Sidney’s organization, because even if Beau doesn’t know everyone’s names – he knows everyone’s faces) pointing a gun at Bortuzzo’s head.

“Fuck,” Beau snarls to himself before he turns back to Zach, says, “Sill, call Tanger and tell him to send his closest patrol.  Make sure to give him the description of whoever the fuck this guy is.”

Beau doesn’t wait for Zach to respond, just throws open the door, and pulls out his revolver, the one Sidney had given him, and double checks that it’s loaded.

Beau enters the store and doesn’t flinch when the guy whirls around, trains his gun onto Beau.  But Beau’s had Steve’s fangs on his throat before after accidently stepping on the wolf’s tail – a little snub-nosed .38 didn’t faze him.

“Do you fucking mind, man?” the man asks, his nose is red, his eyes wet and nystagmic.

“I don’t, but Sidney Crosby will,” Beau snaps, keeping his voice calm and his revolver visible as he slowly stalks forward, putting as much apathetic confidence as he can into his walk.

Borts’s eyes go wide; Beau doesn’t look at him, keeps his eyes on the man in front of him – the man whose hand is shaking violently, whose eyes have gone too-wide and are too-filled with fear.

“This is Crosby’s store?” he asks.

“It is,” Beau says.  He’s close enough now that the gun is inches from his forehead.

“I just need my stuff, okay?” the guy screams, turning away from Beau to put his gun back on Borts.  “Give me the fucking—”

Beau didn’t think about what he did next – he just saw Robert in danger and reacted.

(The gunshot is still ringing in his ears when he feels Sutter’s hand on the back of his neck ten minutes later.)

(Robert Bortuzzo never talks to him again and Beau knows he shouldn’t be surprised.)

 

-

 

“Do you want me to kill him?” Sidney asks Beau.

“I’m fine, Sid,” Beau says, shakes his head.  A part of him still appreciates the thought.  “Just because the guy doesn’t want to get involved with a gang member, doesn’t mean he should die.”

“Are you sure?” Sidney asks, settling onto the couch next to Beau.  “Maybe a little beating?”

“Okay, that’s definitely not going to help anything,” Beau says as he closes his eyes and slouches further down into the couch.  Eventually, he asks, “Did I do the right thing?  Maybe the guy wasn’t going to shoot?”

“Sunshine,” Sidney starts, tugging on Beau’s shirt sleeve until Beau tilted to the side and landed in Sid’s lap, “if you begin to worry about all of the ‘maybes’ and ‘ifs’ in this line of work, you’ll never stop.  He was high and that made him unpredictable – even a twitch the wrong way could have set the gun off.”

“The gun wasn’t even loaded,” Beau says.

Sidney leans forward, presses a soft kiss to Beau’s lips, says, “You didn’t know.  And I would always rather that you came back home alive, not dead because of a ‘maybe’.  Do you understand me?”

Beau nods, lets Sidney kiss him again.

 

-z-

 

End.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kadar finds a witness, the witness disappears; Ovi stops by and Beau is a BAMF; Drew Doughty meets an ~~un~~ fortunate end after a hit-and-run kills someone Sidney values.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: hit-and-run car accidents and synthetic drugs (which you can learn more about [here](http://www.ncsl.org/research/civil-and-criminal-justice/synthetic-drug-threats.aspx))
> 
> Reminder that Sidney's still technically a bad guy, I guess.

-z-

 

_September 2013_

 

Mike Kadar throws his arms up and whoops for joy.  He grabs his partner, Gary Agnew, by the shoulders and yells, “I found someone who will testify!  I found someone who will testify against Sidney Crosby!”

Gary stares at him, but then the words hit him and they’re pulling each other in for eager hugs.

“Then don’t just stand there,” Ray Shero yells from his office, “go arrest the bastard!”

“Yes, sir!” Mike says, throwing out a mock salute as he and Gary sprint towards the doors.

 

-

 

“What witness?” Sidney asks, curling his lip in distaste.  They’re standing on the doorstep of Sidney’s mansion as Sid folds his arms across his chest, narrowing his eyes.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise,” Kadar says, twirling his handcuffs around on his finger.

“I think you’re making this up,” Sidney says.

Kadar is about to defend himself, to tell Sidney that if he were going to make something up he would have done it a long time ago, but a sharp snarl gets his attention.

“Holy shit,” he curses – because the wolf is right behind him, and it’s so much bigger than it looks in the photos.  He starts to go for his gun, but Sidney’s voice stops him.

“You touch your gun and he’ll kill you on the spot,” Sidney says, immediately grabbing Kadar’s arm, when Kadar looks back at him, Sidney lifts his hands away slowly.  “Look, I’ll go with you,” he says, “just don’t touch your gun.”

“You know animal control is on their way to take him?” Gary says.

Sidney’s eyes dart between the two detectives before he glances down to the wolf and says, “Steve, get out of here.”

The wolf growls, but then he’s making a mad dash towards the tree line, towards the small wooded area Sidney had snuggled his mansion against.

“Now, they’ll have to find him,” Sidney snaps as he reaches just inside his door to grab his suit coat from a hook.  “Let’s go, I want to get this over with.”

Sidney lets Kadar handcuff him and, just as he’s getting into the backseat, a long-slow howl rises up from the trees.  Neither Kadar nor Gary see how Sidney smirks.

 

-

 

(Steve gets Dan Bylsma’s scent from Kadar’s clothes and begins to hunt.)

 

-

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Crosby says, looking bored.  “I own multiple very successful, very _legitimate_ businesses.  I pay my taxes.  I donate a good chunk of my fortune to hospitals, and to animal and homeless shelters.”

“Things will go a lot smoother for you if you just confessed,” Mike says, frustration finally creeping into his voice.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kades,” Crosby says, inspecting his fingernails before picking a piece of lint off of his suit vest.  (Mike hated that even though he had been at home, Sidney Crosby could still be counted on to be dressed in a three-piece suit.)

“Whatever,” Mike finally throws his hands up.  Then he flips open a file, slides a photograph across the table – done with the pretense of trying to get Crosby to confess to anything and ready to get to what he’d really brought him in for.  “Who is this?”

A look of surprise flashes only for an instant in Sidney’s eyes and Mike has to resist the urge to pump his fist.

“Who is this?” Mike asks again, watching as Crosby’s face goes carefully blank.

“I don’t know,” he says, looking up at Mike and pointedly leaning backwards – trying to appear calm and unconcerned.

“Really?” Mike asks.  “Because this guy walked right into your hospital room.”

“Must have been before someone brought Steve to me,” Crosby says, giving the answer quick.

“Or maybe Steve let him in,” Mike presses.  “Maybe you know this guy, and Steve does, too.  Who is he to you that your wolf would let him just waltz in, even though he wouldn’t let Kris Letang or Evgeni Malkin in?”

“I can’t speak for Steve,” Crosby says and Mike doesn’t miss the hint of a smirk on Crosby’s lips.  “But whoever that is in the photo, he must have deemed him trustworthy.”

A knock at the door interrupts Mike’s next question.

“This had better be fucking good,” he growls to Gary.

Gary is pale, his shoulders slumped in defeat, says, “Your witness is missing.  There was blood on the scene.  There was a _lot_ of blood at the scene.”

Mike curses and glares over his shoulder at Crosby.  Crosby is still looking at the photo – brows knitted together in something akin to confusion.

 

-

 

Out of spite, Mike keeps Crosby in the holding cells overnight.

“Maybe I’ll finally get a good night’s sleep,” Crosby says, yawning and stretching.

Mike grits his teeth.

 

-x-

 

“He has a picture of you,” Sidney says to Steve, watching as the wolf lounged on Sidney’s bed, wearing his human skin.  “From when you came to me in the hospital.”

Steve sighs and closes his eyes, rubs at his forehead.  “I’m sorry, Sid,” he says, “I wasn’t thinking right.”

“I’m not mad,” Sidney says, shrugging as he begins to unbutton his shirt.  He pauses, furrows his eyebrows, before looking back at Steve and asking, “Does it bother you?  Staying shifted all of the time?  Have you ever wanted Beau or Geno to know about you?”

“No,” Steve says, sitting up immediately – his eyes are wide, his voice almost panicked.

“Hey, hey,” Sidney says, puts his hands up, “I wasn’t saying you had to.  I just wanted to make sure you weren’t, y’know, feeling left out or anything.  Like, if you wanted to join a conversation?”

“Sid,” Steve says, a small smile crossing his face, “I’m a werewolf, not a dog.  I don’t starve for human affections.  Well,” Steve’s eyes go dark then and there’s a hint of fang when his lip pulls back into a dangerous smirk, “I do for _one_ human’s.”

Sidney quickly finishes undressing.

 

-x-

 

_November 2013_

 

“Sidney Crosby!” Alex Ovechkin cries out, entering the restaurant with a flourish.

Sidney immediately turns to glare at Geno – who had suddenly disappeared.  He turns and forces himself to smile.  “Alex,” he starts, “to what do I owe the displeasure of your overbearing company?”

“You always say the nicest things,” Alex says, leaning in close and batting his eyelashes.

Sidney glances around for backup, but even Steve is grinning up at Alex – his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

“Traitor,” Sidney hisses.  Steve just blinks at him, amusement in his eyes.

“Sid,” Alex says, getting Sidney’s attention, “you must call me _Sasha_ – it would bring me such,” his eyes go half-lidded and he leans in close, “ _pleasure._ ”

Sidney leans in, too, brushes his nose against Alex’s, chuckling when the Russian’s breath hitches, says: “That’s why I don’t do it.”  Then he abruptly leans back and returns to his steak.

Geno quietly sneaks back in just as Alex is coughing into his hand and fidgeting in his seat.

“Why are you here?” Sidney asks after he takes a moment to glare at Geno until his second in command looked properly shame-faced.

“Ah, yes,” Alex says, picking up a glass a wine that had just been poured for him (this was Sid’s favorite restaurant for a reason – the staff knew what everyone liked and made sure they had it immediately).  “Someone has accepted the assignment to kill you,” he says it so nonchalantly that if Steve hadn’t growled, Sidney would have thought that he had misheard him.

“And you couldn’t have just called?” Sidney asks.

“I could not pass up the opportunity to see you, Sid,” Alex coos.  Then he snaps his fingers and one of his entourage rushes up to him and holds out a thumb drive.  Alex takes it and passes it to Sidney.  “His name is Chris Krieder – this is everything my people have on him.”

“Thanks, Ovi,” Sidney says, passing the drive to Geno who pockets it, “I’ll make sure Beau takes a look at that.  Do you have any idea when he’s supposed to be making a pass at me?”

“We didn’t exactly talk,” Alex says, rolling his eyes at Sid.

“You terrible at this,” Geno snorts.

“You are so mean to me, Zhenya,” Alex says, pouting at Geno, “being around angry Canadians has turned you into a bully.”

Sidney snorts and shakes his head, “He was already a bully before he came to me – so I think it was your fault.”

Alex waggles his eyebrows.

Sidney sighs and begins to stand.  “I need to find out if Krieder is already in Pittsburgh,” he says, “and to do that, we need to get that USB to Beau.”

“How will that help?” Alex asks.

Sidney smirks as he pulls his suit jacket on, says, “Come along, _Sasha_ , and I’ll show you.”

 

-

 

“Give me everything on Chris Krieder,” Sidney says, passing the USB Geno hands him over to Beau.  Sidney glances over his shoulder at Alex pointedly before turning back to Beau and saying, “And I mean _everything_ , Sunshine.”

Beau smirks, bows theatrically, says, “As you wish, my captain.”  He straightens and walks back towards the couch, picking up his laptop from the coffee table and opening it.

“Care for something to drink?” Sidney asks Alex, walking over to a tall table on which sat ornate glass bottles of whiskey, rum, and vodka.

“Only if you have good vodka,” Alex says, keeping one eye on Beau – watching as the man hummed and tapped away at his laptop.

“Best vodka,” Geno says, walking up next to Sid and pouring himself and Alex a glass.

“I’ve got it,” Beau announces, just as Alex is taking his first sip.

“So quickly?” Alex asks, coughing a little in his surprise.

“I had it for about twenty minutes before you walked in actually – I was just checking my email,” Beau says, smirking. “I have alerts set up for whenever someone accepts the hit on Sidney.”

“You couldn’t have told me?” Sid squawks, settling on the arm of the couch closest to Beau and leaning to the side to look at the screen of Beau’s laptop.

“It’s _Chris Krieder_ , Sid,” Beau says with a huff of laughter and incredulousness, “this guy has a certain type of target – ones that are far less protected and far more vulnerable than you ever are even when no one is with you.  He has to be desperate for the cash to even _consider_ trying to take you on.”

Beau hands his laptop over to Sidney.

“Besides,” he continues, smirking over at Alex, “Tanger has already sent Perron and Arcobello to deal with him.  Chu and Knight wanted it, but Kris needs Arcobello to get some experience before he ships out to Arizona.”

“Does Kris know who he’s going to put Perry with?” Sidney asks.

“Not yet,” Beau says, “he’s still going over various prospects.”

“Ok, thanks, Sunshine,” Sidney says, pressing an exaggerated kiss to Beau’s temple before he turns to Alex, grinning smugly.

Alex just stares at Beau, his jaw slack, then turns to Sidney, asks, “Can I borrow him?”

Sidney snorts and stands up from the couch arm.  “ _Maybe_ if your life depended on it,” he says.

“You shouldn’t joke about that,” Alex says, eyes wide.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Ovechkin,” Beau says, standing and stretching his arms above his head, winking when he notices the way Sidney is eyeing him, “I have alerts on all of our allies – if someone puts a hit out on you, I’ll know about it and pass along the information.”

“I am oddly reassured by this,” Alex says, grinning.

“As you should be,” Sidney says, smiling fondly down at Beau.

 

-

 

That night, Tanger calls Sidney to report that one Chris Krieder was just found hanging from Fort Pitt Bridge.

“A tragic suicide,” he says.

“Yes,” Sidney says, watching Alex’s head bob between Geno’s legs, “‘tragic’.”  Then he disconnects the call and leans back into headboards to enjoy the show.

 

-x-

 

_March 2014_

 

Drew Doughty arrives in Pittsburgh with $50, an ounce of coke, and a thousand tabs of synthetic LSD he’s been ordered to sell.

 

-

 

Doughty’s in Pittsburgh for all of three hours, still trying to sell his first tab, when the Penguins find him.

“I don’t know who you think you,” says one of them, a tall blond with a crooked nose and a scar over his eye.  “But this ain’t a good place to be.”

Doughty puts his hands up, tries to shrink in on himself.  “Look, I’m just trying to make some money so I can find my way back home, okay?” he says, the lie he’s been practicing rolling off his tongue easily.  “Boss Benn said Boss Crosby gave his special permission, ‘kay?  Look,” he reaches into his coat, pulls out a phone, “you can call him yourself—”

“You’re with the Stars?” the blond asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Doughty says, nodding enthusiastically, “me and the brothers Benn go way back.”

The man looks Doughty up and down with his good eye, assessing him.  Finally he steps back and nods.  “Fine,” he says.  Then he flashes a grin, “Say?  Why don’t we have a drink together later?  I’ve been curious about how ol’ Jordie’s been doin’.”

Doughty smiles back and readily agrees.

 

-

 

By the time Doughty meets up with Philip for those drinks it's already April and he’s sold over half his tabs.  They get along uneasily at first, but as the night goes on and more alcohol is spilled between them – the conversation begins to flow more readily and it’s easier to steer the conversation away from Jordie Benn.

It’s between his sixth shot of tequila and getting into his car that things get blurry – coming into sharp focus only when his head is against his steering wheel as the horn blared.

Stumbling out of his car, Doughty immediately sees the man from the other car he’d hit – staring unblinking at him through a shattered windshield.

Doughty vomits once before he turns on his heel and _runs_.

 

-x-

 

“Whatever the fuck it is, I want it off my goddamned streets,” Sidney snarls at Flower, leaning over the kitchen island to glare at him.

“I’m _trying_ ,” Flower says, “but all the people buying the shit are _dying_ and that makes them a bit harder to interrogate to find the source.”

Sidney makes a noise of frustration before he rounds on Kris.  “Start tightening up the dress codes – dealers need to be in their Sunday best.  Whoever is selling this synthetic shit probably isn’t a Penguin, so spread the word to look out for a dealer not dressed like one.”

“What makes you think he’s not one of us?” Kris asks.

“Because,” Sidney says, accepting a glass of whiskey from Flower, “the only reason you sell synthetics is to make money without bothering to create an actual consumer base.  Synthetics are dangerous and you’re just as likely to kill a costumer as you to get them to come back.”

“The same could be said for all kinds of drugs,” Kris says, arguing for the sake of it.

“Which is why we have EMTs at the Houses,” Sidney counters.  “Dead people can’t buy drugs, Tanger, and whoever this is spreading whatever-the-fuck this is, is messing with my fucking money.  Sales are already down.”

Before anyone could say anything else, Beau walks into the room, his face stoic as he says, “Sidney, Mike Kadar was killed in a hit-and-run last night.”

 

-

 

The night is thick and the scene was horribly corrupted by thousands of smells – but Steve still finds the one scent that veers away from everyone else’s, the one scent that reeks of fear and alcohol.

He tracks the scent through the roadside ditch, the little wooded area, and to an old access road, but loses it there – meaning whoever it was had managed to hitchhike.

Not that that mattered – Steve had the scent locked in his nose.

He runs the city for almost 18 hours before he finally picks it up again.

 

-

 

Sidney slowly walks around the motel room Doughty had been living in.  He stops; with a gloved hand he picks up a baggy and looks at the little tab of paper inside.

“I’ll be damned,” he says.  Then he turns to where Doughty was struggling against Olli and Brian Dumoulin’s hold.  “Looks like I have two reasons to kill you now.”

“Look, I don’t—”

Steve’s vicious snarl cuts him off.

“As I was saying,” Sidney starts again, dropping the tab back onto the dresser.  “I have two reasons to kill you now.  But I don’t think I will.”  He looks over to Beau, says, “You know, I’ve always been curious to see how many internal organs a man can live without.”

With a straight face, Beau says, “I’ll find out for you, sir.”

 

-

  

Sidney waits until after Kadar’s funeral before he orders Doughty to be dropped off at the station.

 

-z-

 

End.


End file.
